


The Dirt From Inside You

by PerfidiousFate



Category: Everworld Series - K. A. Applegate
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Dreams, F/F, Gen, Guilt, Post-Canon, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 07:15:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1596242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerfidiousFate/pseuds/PerfidiousFate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>April dreams, talks to her friends, and tries to move on. Not necessarily in that order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dirt From Inside You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleRaven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleRaven/gifts).



> I was really excited to get an Everworld prompt. I really loved April and Senna's relationship and all its complexities as well, and the last book really made me feel for April. This ended up having less Senna/April than I was going for, but it does have an impact. Hopefully this isn't too unlike anything you wanted! Thank you so much for the lovely prompts. And sorry for the delay.
> 
> Title comes from the song Stranger by Johnny Hollow.

 April dreamed.

Ever since the gateway closed (which was their tactical way of saying “ever since Senna was stabbed by her half-sister”) and real world April faded away completely, Everworld April started dreaming again. Only she wasn't real world April or Everworld April anymore; there was only one of her. Jekyll and Hyde merged into one. The blood on her hands was completely hers, now. No pawning it off on the other April, the crazy, temporary April.

 Sometimes, when she slept, it was blessed unconsciousness and she would wake up several hours later completely refreshed and ready to go. Sometimes she’d appear back in the real world, a ghost, and watch her mother cry her eyes out at the kitchen table, her father stare at a family portrait they’d taken years ago, a hollow look on his face. Sometimes she’d have nightmares. Hel’s realm and the tortured men, baking alive under a boiling hot sun, watching Galahad be swallowed by a dragon. Things that when conscious she’d swallowed down, that they'd all swallowed down, lest it had broken them.

But the worst nightmare, the one she had the most and the one she wouldn't admit to having, was the one where she had a knife in her hand, and her half-sister’s eyes blazed with some unknowable emotion, and then there was the single word half-sobbed – ” _You_ ” – and then Senna’s blood was all over April’s hands and she would never ever ever be able to get them clean.

* * *

 The first Christmas Senna had spent with them had started out normal enough. The day before, April put on her favorite dress – the green one with the bow around her waist, the one her mother got her for her birthday – and spent the day with her parents, singing and decorating and watching Christmas movies, vibrating with anticipation and good old-fashioned cheer.

 Senna had stayed in her room, and nobody mentioned her absence. Not on Christmas Eve.

 Later on in the day, when the sun had already set, her mother put on her lipstick and they all piled into the car. Senna included. Her half-sister wore a blue dress that April’s mother had bought for her, after a painstaking day of shopping, but the way she tugged at her hem with a half-frown showed nothing but distaste. April, who was sitting beside her, was the only one who noticed it. Her parents only remarked on how pretty Senna looked, how pretty they both looked. If her mother’s smile was a bit strained, April was too young to note it.

 When they got to church, they greeted their priest, and April flashed her best smile at him. Her parents flashed their best smiles at him. Only Senna didn’t do anything, just looked up at him and kept her face blank. The priest, in turn, smiled at April, then her mother – but his smile wilted as he looked at Senna and her father. It was like they’d shown up uninvited to a party and he had no choice but to be polite to them while wishing with all his might that they would take a hint and leave. Only that was ridiculous because they were there for Mass, and everyone who believed was welcome to Mass. And even if Senna wasn't, because she was cold and odd and never wanted to play and said weird things to April, it wasn't her father's sin. He was blameless.

 After the awkward meet and greet, they mingled with their neighbors who all pretended not to be stealing covert glances at Senna. Senna just tossed her hair and lifted her chin up, defiant, while April’s father seemed to shrink under their gazes. Her mother looked as if she’d swallowed a lemon, but she smiled politely enough. Only April was her usual cheery self. They made their way to find a seat in the pews sooner than they would usually.

Her mother went in first, and April followed her and grabbed her hand as she sat down. Then, usually, her father would come, and they’d all sit together for Mass, April in between her parents. Only instead of her father Senna came gliding in, chin still squared defiantly.

“Move over,” April told her. “Daddy’s going to come sit next to me.”

Senna gave her a cool glare. “I’m supposed to sit next to you. He said so.”

“But I _always_ sit between Mommy and Daddy,” April protested. And now Senna’s look changed, from a stubborn glare to something cruel. April bit the inside of her cheek, and told herself that she was imagining things. She still wanted to believe the best of her new sister. Even if that was becoming harder and harder each day. 

 “April, let your sister sit next to you,” her father had said, and shot her a tired look. “There’s a good girl.”

April believed in being a good person, or at least trying your very best. Even if sometimes, that meant sacrificing something you really wanted - like your father's comforting presence beside her, where he always had been for as long as she remembered. Good people were always good, even when it was profoundly difficult. April told herself that, and ignored the sting in her eyes.

She moved over.

Senna settled down next to her, smoothing down the folds of her skirt, and their father put a nervous hand on her shoulder as he sat beside her. Senna didn't notice or care. Instead, she twisted her head to meet April’s gaze and shot her a smirk, tilted her head upwards. Smug and not hiding it.

_You can still pretend he’s your daddy if you want to. But you and I will know._

* * *

David smiled whenever he saw her now. Try as she might, April couldn’t get used to it. David had rarely been outright unpleasant to her – at least, unless Senna was involved – but he had always been too solemn by half. He smiled. But not very often, and never without a concrete reason.

But now he smiled whenever he saw her coming, an automatic slight upturning of his lips, as if her very presence had brightened his day. She wasn't even sure if he realized that he was doing it. It would fade within seconds and then he would be all business again, asking her about the myriad of tasks she’d been assigned, barking requests that were more like orders, telling her about the latest news from the front.

“You seem much happier,” she told him one day, when they took a break from planning by grabbing breakfast. They were in Olympus, and treated like heroes. She was in David’s room, which had turned into a sort of impromptu war council. Everything was covered with maps and parchments filled with David’s chicken-scratch writing. His bed hosted a variety of spears and swords, and several types of uniforms. David was trying to choose a look for his army. When April had pointedly asked where he’d slept, he’d blinked at her owlishly and changed the subject.

“What do you mean?” he asked through a mouthful of poppy seed and honey cake. “We’re at war. At war against an alien god and machine guns.”

“Funnily enough, I think I noticed that,” she said, and smirked at him before biting into a plum. It was perfect in the way that very few plums back in the real world would be. “I wasn't asking about the war. I was asking about you.” 

David shrugged. “I’m keeping busy.”

“You’re definitely right about that, General Davideus.” She widened her eyes in a way that she hoped made her look both sincere and awed. Christopher wasn't there to give David shit, so she stepped up to the plate. 

“What about you?” he peered at her. “You seem to be doing better. Ever since – you know.” He stumbled awkwardly over the end of the sentence, and took another swig of his water to cover it up.

April hesitated, her good mood vanishing. She did know. She knew very well.

The fact that she killed Senna Wales hung over them, an elephant in the room to rival all elephants. 

 It was worst with David. Jalil had disliked Senna from the beginning, and Christopher had long lost any lingering affection he might have had for the girl he used to date. He’d seen the cruelty Senna displayed. The monster that she was, that April had grown up with.  

 David had loved Senna. Even after the enchantment was lifted. Senna’s death hurt him. Maybe as much as it hurt April. David had sworn to protect her, protect them all, and he had failed. He had loved her, and had watched April kill her, and didn’t do anything because he knew it was what was had to be done.

 April had wanted to be a good person, keep herself intact despite the horrors of Everworld, and she had failed too. 

 They didn’t talk about it. Maybe because it hurt too much to mention out loud. Or maybe because they wanted to make it easier. Maybe. Were they friends? April remembered her friends in the real world. Magda, Becka, Tyra. Her best friends. She’d shared everything with them, had hoped that they would be friends forever. Even if she moved to LA like she hoped to one day, she would have called them every week, exchanged gossip and laughter and love.

 She didn’t have the same relationship with David. Couldn’t imagine telling him about guys she found attractive, or going shopping with him on a sunny afternoon and talking about their futures. But David could be counted on. He sometimes made reckless decisions, but he always tried to make the right ones. He wouldn’t leave people behind. He didn’t hesitate to talk back to gods and kings. He trusted April. They’d gone through hell together, and she spent about twelve hours a day with him, and he poked fun at Christopher with her.

 Yes. They were friends.

“I’ll be okay,” she told him. “One day.” If she’d been with Magda, with any of her real-world friends, she might’ve elaborated. They shared everything. They might have noticed the catch in her voice and convinced her to talk about her feelings, cry into ice cream and watch bad Lifetime movies and get over it.

But David just nodded, trusting her at her word. “All right.”

They had been good friends, her drama club. April missed them like burning. Wondered what it would’ve been like to graduate with them, to go to the first wedding one of them had, to grow old together. She loved them to death, but - 

Senna’s memory lingered like a gloomy cloud. She’d been cruel, and April had hated her, but she was also _Senna_.

David met her eyes. He understood.

The taste of failure still lingered, but the poppyseed cakes helped wash it down.

* * *

The dream again.

The courtyard filled with Senna’s men. A charred corpse. Christopher off to the side, bewitched. Jalil with his face bloody. And in the midst of it all, Senna Wales. April’s half-sister. A witch.

 April knew how this went.

The cold, hard plastic in her hand, hiding a deadly blade. Swiss and Coo-Hatch collaboration. She stalked forward, clutching at the knife. Senna’s face in front of her, the girl she grew up with and a monster, both and neither all at once. She looked wild, infuriated, powerless in a way she had never been before. Her face tilted up but not smug, not anymore.

“ _You_ ,” Senna said, half-sobbed, and her face rippled before April’s eyes. She looked both seven and seventeen, the cold little girl who’d invaded April’s life and the colder woman she’d become.

General Davideus’ hands were callused and scarred. But they weren’t bloody like April’s.

The thought flitted through April’s mind, and almost immediately the dream changed. Shifted. April still watched herself raise her arm, clutching the knife. Sliding it like butter into Senna’s flesh. Watched the wobble over Senna’s face, felt the iciness slide down her throat and into her stomach and into her heart, where it lodged itself.

But Senna didn’t bleed. Instead, she smiled at April, just a normal day. The blade still sticking out of her.

“David the General,” she said with her mocking smirk. “David the Fool. My failure of a champion. But your success." And she smiled her cold smile.

Senna and April had both seen the catch in David’s mind. The desperate, overwhelming, need to prove himself. But Senna had grabbed hold of it, had used it to bewitch David and make him her champion. She played him like she played everyone, but the scars she left ran deeper, were still there in the way David bit his lip sometime. Being a puppet was hard work.

But April had…April had used him too. Let him take the sword, take the lead. Seen the twistedness of his mind and used it for her own benefit.

“He didn’t save me,” Senna told her, and now she was bleeding from the wound in her chest, the poisonous blood flooding down to cover April’s hands. Unclean. “But he saved _you._ Poor, poor David.”

“It’s not like that,” April said. “You were manipulating him. You’re a monster.”

Senna laughed. "Have you looked at yourself, sister?"

And then she died, and April's hands were still covered in blood, and she woke up, a faint taste of cherry on her lips.

* * *

 A week after her and David’s discussion, April decided to go visit Jalil and Etain in the Great Diggings.

 David had grumbled, but accompanied her anyway. It was a pact that they made. Never leave one person by themselves. If they had to split up, make sure there were at least two people in each group. Perhaps it was paranoid, but they weren’t taking any chances. They knew only too well what kind of shitstorm could hit with no warning in Everworld, and leaving one person by themselves was just asking for trouble. Thankfully, they had boats and chariots; it didn’t take long to travel there, even with the Hetwan army skulking around.

 So David came with her. Besides, he needed to talk to Jalil.

 “How long until you think you’ll be able to come to Olympus?” he asked him when they finally managed to track him down at the very edge of the bustling marketplace. It had taken an hour from their arrival. Jalil was rushing around like a madman, piles of schematics in his hands, ordering dwarves around left and right. He looked a bit manic around his eyes. Apparently he found designing an entire electric infrastructure for an underground city fun. That surprised absolutely no one.

“A week or two at most,” he said. “I trained my main man over there – ” he jabbed his thumb at a dwarf with a typical square head and a particularly bushy beard “– in all the basics. He should be able to take over. I just need to make sure he has everything available and write some more how-to guides. Maybe even a scientific explanation of how electrons work, I haven’t decided yet. And King Baldwin wants to throw me a farewell feast before I leave.”

“Yeah?” David said, smiling wryly. “Well, when you do leave, send word ahead with a messenger. I think Dionysus wants to throw you a hello party.”

Jalil groaned.

“Wow,” Christopher declared. He’d been accompanying Jalil, if by ‘accompanying’ one meant following behind and making stupid jokes. “I think I found the only two people in the world who are complaining about too many parties. The General, I was almost expecting. But you, Jalil? You wound me.” He put his hand to his chest in a mock heartbroken way.

“Not all of us fancy trying to run an army with a hangover,” Jalil said. “I’d like to see you try it.”

“Well if anyone would be able to do it, it’d be Napoleon.” Christopher slapped David on the back, harder than was strictly necessary. “If only he wasn't more prudish than a mousy old nun. You’re missing out on a lot, man. You haven’t lived life till you tried partying hard, the Christopher Hitchcock way.”

“If drinking will turn me into you, I think I’ll have to pass,” David said, and Jalil snorted. Chris grinned, dimpling. Amused.

The usual shenanigans. April hung back, bit the inside of her cheek, and tried to ignore the crushing nothingness. Senna-shaped.

 It would be easy to jump in, riff off of David, or Christopher. Maybe even Jalil – he was starting to look twitchy again. She knew this bickering enough to be able to slot herself in easy as a breeze.

 But April had spent her whole life fitting herself in. Playing the good friend, the good daughter, the good Christian. Maybe not a good sister, but she tried all the same.

 " _You",_ Senna had cried out as she became a good murderer.

* * *

 April dreamed.

She was back in the real world again, invisible and intangible. April after April had left. The world was blurry, swimming before her eyes. Blurrier than before. She floated through a wall, watched her friends go into class like she was watching it underwater, and knew with absolute certainty that she was losing this world forever.

She went home.

Her mother was sitting on the couch and clutching desperately at a photo. She wasn’t crying, but her eyes were red-rimmed. Her father was sitting next to her, arm around her shoulders. He had dark, exhausted circles under his eyes.

April floated closer. A lifetime of memories in these two people. These two people she’d left behind.

“I love you guys,” she whispered, but neither of them could hear. “I love you and I’m so sorry. For…” She hesitated. For not choosing them. For not being as good a daughter as everyone always said she was. For claiming the patronage of a Greek mythological goddess while she still believed in God. For Senna. “For…everything,” she finished awkwardly.

 Her father let out a shuddering sigh, and April let herself believe that he’d heard her.  
  
 She approached. Her mother was clutching a family portrait. It was from when she was five and sitting in between her parents, staring up at the camera with a toothy grin. She looked happy. They all looked so happy, her father half-laughing and her mother dimpling.

 It wasn’t their only family portrait. They took one every year, right before Christmas, to send out to their friends and relatives. This was the only one without Senna in it.

 Senna was half a ghost hanging around the house. They’d treated her the best they could, April’s parents did, but she was a manifestation of her father’s failure. Their kindness could only reach so far. And Senna was a witch. Even if none of them had realized it at the time, they had all felt it, deep within their souls. The wrongness of it all.

"Goodbye," April said, but talking to a photograph was as unrewarding as it seemed. She licked her lips, and tasted cherry.

* * *

The first thing April did the next day was pay a visit to Etain.

“April!” Etain exclaimed when she saw her. “How lovely it is to get a visit from you!” She smiled her lovely smile, the one that made you want to smile along no matter what your mood.

Etain looked better, happier, than when April had last seen her. Her eyes were brighter, and there was a skip in her step. Obviously she had grown at least accustomed, if not quite happy, in her marriage.

“King Baldwin and Jalil think they might be able to expand the telegraph,” Etain told her as they walked along, watching dwarves erect telegram poles and run wire through them under Jalil’s supervision. The usual dwarven handmaids followed behind her at a polite distance. “We could run it all the way to Merlinshire! Or to any of the kingdoms of Eire. To think, I could be in constant contact with my mother, with any of my surviving people!” She laughed joyously, and April couldn’t help but join in – Etain had that kind of laugh. Out of all the people April met in Everworld, Etain was unarguably one of the best.

They chatted some more as they walked around the marketplace, looking at the wares on sale and pretending to consider splurging, before slowly making their way up the castle where an elven messenger from Etain’s mother waylaid them. He talked to her for maybe ten minutes before excusing himself, and when he left, Etain’s face was pinched.

“Sorry to drag you away from your duties,” April said, suddenly uncomfortable. “I’m sure you’re really busy right now, what with the war and all.”

Etain smiled, and drew her into a hug. “April,” she said. “I told you, you are almost a sister to me. I would never tire of your company.”

A sister.

April swallowed down the lump in her throat, and hugged back.

* * *

There were always two of them together. David had to be at Olympus, with Athena, and Jalil had to be in the Great Diggings. That left Christopher and April to accompany either of them. Every now and then, they switched.

“We’re the useless two,” Christopher had told her. They were in his room, and he was packing up his things to make the trek back to Olympus. He’d apparently accrued an impressive amount of junk. “Jalil and David, they’re the big deal. Everyone wants their grubby hands on them. They’re the Big Macs, whereas we’re like the complimentary mints everybody nods politely at and throws away the first chance they get. We’re just waiting for the cosmic garbage bin at this point.”

April laughed despite herself. “You mean that they’re the baby spinach salad and we’re the complimentary mints?”

Christopher wrinkled his nose. “April, your vegetarianism has ruined metaphors. Way to go.”

“I don’t think you’re useless,” April told him. “You just don’t have the right skill set for the job right now. If we need to make another comedy routine, you’d be the first man we called. You can clown around with the best of them."

“Yeah, well,” Christopher said. “If we need another person to be enchanted by a witchy lady, open the doors to an impenetrable fortress and get everyone killed, I’d probably be right up there on the waiting list too.” He smiled a hard smile and stuffed some socks into his pack.

“It wasn’t your fault,” April said. “Christopher, Senna got to everyone.” She ignored the stab she felt at the name. “Nobody blames you.”

“She didn’t get to you,” Christopher said. “Not ever. And I don’t think it’s that extra X chromosome you got, either.” He peered at her. “You were just never fooled by her.” His tone was awed. "Even Jalil doubted sometimes. But you - you didn't."

“Yeah, well,” April said. “I wouldn’t be so sure.” She licked her lips despite herself, furtively, as Christopher looked away to decide which of his commemorative ale mugs to bring.

Cherry.

* * *

“Are you doing all right?” Jalil. He was staring at her, arms crossed. For once, free of the schematics and his entourage of industrious dwarves.

“Well, I keep bumping into people because I keep expecting them to be taller,” April said. “I think I’m going to accidentally start another civil war.” She grinned at him.

Jalil rolled his eyes. “I was more referring to the fact that you’ve been washing your hands for the last ten minutes.”

“Oh.” April looked down at the basin of water, where her hands were turning pruny. “Was I?”

Jalil just stared at her. April bit her lip, but refused to give in.

“April,” Jalil said, raising a wry eyebrow. “I think I know something about cleaning hands.” His voice still held a trace of bitterness, but it was better. The wounds on his face had long since healed. He was getting better.

She looked down at her hands. Senna’s blood. She knew they were clean, but all she could see was Senna’s face. Her hair. The coolness in her eyes. The look she gave April when she died.

Was that what was meant by a witch’s blood being poisonous? No wonder everyone was so afraid. 

“The thing is, your hands aren’t actually dirty,” Jalil said. “It’s a trick your mind plays on you. Your brain receiving data but instead of interpreting it the rational way, it reaches a bunch of bullshit solutions and convinces you they’re the real ones. Understanding that is half the battle.” He shot a glance at her in that unnerving way he had, where he didn’t move his head at all, just his eyes. “Telling yourself it’s not real doesn’t work with OCD. But you don’t have OCD.”

She frowned, annoyed at him. “I don't. Unfortunately, you can’t reason feelings away.”

“Unfortunately,” he echoed, smirking. “But I think our stint in Everworld has shown that a lot of things that can’t possibly exist are perfectly real. And usually want to eat you.”

“Or just torture you with nightmares for the rest of your life.”  
  
“Or that,” Jalil agreed, and he sent her a surprisingly soft look. April was filled with a sudden rush of affection for him – despite his logic, his aggressive atheism, his sometimes ruthlessness, he really was a good friend. “I know you can’t reason feelings away. But. Have you tried?”

* * *

April was fourteen when it happened.

She’d been getting ready for a date. Her first one ever. He was a boy from her drama club, and he was nice and funny and cute and did a phenomenal Claudius. She’d been in her room, making sure her hair was shiny-sleek and putting on mascara and cherry lipgloss with the nervous-giddy sense of being adult and sophisticated. They were going to Olive Garden. She was going to get her dad to drive her there.

She’d noticed Senna lurking in her doorway, watching her with her cool eyes. Her hair was wet and she had a bathrobe on - just came from the shower, most likely.

“What do you want, Senna?” April said, not quite snapping but not far off from that. “I’m busy.”

“Are you getting ready for a date?” Senna asked, her voice indifferent. “Who are you going with?”

April blinked, taken aback by this. “Uh. Jake, from drama club. He played Claudius last year in our production of Hamlet.” She bit her lip, suddenly wary. “Why, what do you care?”

“I don’t,” Senna said, and then suddenly she was right beside her. April hadn’t seen her move – she’d almost flown across the room.

Before April could open her mouth and ask how Senna managed to do that, or what she thought she was doing, or could she leave please, Jake was showing up in twenty minutes and April had to call Becka and get some last-minute advice, before she could do any of that Senna was swooping down on her and suddenly her lips were against April’s.

 And then Senna was overwhelming her, Senna’s scent (violets and hydrangeas and soap) and the heat of her skin and her nails digging into April’s cheeks, and the soft wetness of her hair brushing against April’s skin and April’s heart was racing, liquid heat was spreading to her, and Senna’s eyes looked like they had the whole universe in them, and her lips were the softest thing in the world. And then she was pushing off and standing up, brushing off imaginary dust from her knees.

“What – ” April said stupidly, and her brain wasn’t working. She still had heat flowing through her veins, sparking in her fingertips. She felt slow and dazzled, as if Senna had bewitched her and she was fighting through the spell.

“Just know this, April,” Senna said, and her voice was cold as ice. “Just know that no matter what happens with Jake tonight, or with anyone else, I took your first kiss. And you can never get it back.”

And then she swept out of the room, a ghost, and April broke out of her trance several long moments later. She had to reapply her lipgloss. Cherry. And later, when Jake kissed her in front of the restaurant, all she could think of was the smug tilt of Senna’s head as she left the room, and the coldness slowly spreading through her. Hatred, she told herself, and tried her best not to cry when her father picked her up. 

* * *

 April dreamed.

The familiar courtyard. Burnt corpses. Jalil with the twist in his brain, face bloodied from his own nails. David staring up at her, needing her to do the right thing. Christopher bewitched into dull complacency.

 Senna stood there, all by her lonesome. A seven year old with a Barbie backpack. A fourteen year old with wet hair and a striped bathrobe. A killer.

 The rage on her face.

 April walked up to her, feeling the weight of the knife in her hand. The dream went like this: she would walk up to Senna, and she would stab her. Senna’s blood would spill and stain April’s hands. April would wake up.

Unless she didn’t.

_Have you tried?_

 April always tried to be a good person, and being a good person meant sacrifice. Whether it was the warmth of your father at your side. Or leaving behind a world of comfort and friendship to try and save some people, any people. Or - 

 She threw the knife away; she didn’t need it anymore. One step forward. She was April O’Brien. She had this.

The dream melted, changed. Suddenly they weren't in the courtyard, but at Loki's castle - in Hel - in the upside down mirror world. All and none. A whirlwind of images. Her mother, bent over a portrait that had everyone but Senna in it. Senna’s mother, surprisingly weak and frail, about to betray her daughter. The Sennites with their hands on machine guns, and Loki’s trolls. Magda and Becka and Tyra, lovely and brilliant as always, and David, back to them, who was biting his lip and clutching his sword, one boy against the world. Hel and all the horrors she’d inflicted and her friends partying at a school dance. Christopher and Jalil bickering over the logistics of a siege and Christopher and Jalil munching on burgers.

Through it all, April kept going. Don’t take your eyes off of her, she told herself. You need this.

The things she loved and the things she hated, horror and love and poetry in motion, all at once, swirling around her. 

And then Senna, just Senna, Senna with the pale hair and pale eyes and cruel smirk, and then her lips were on April’s. She tasted like steel and like blood and like the cherry lipgloss April had worn when she was fourteen.

“I own you,” Senna said, drawing back. Her face shifted and changed with the dream – but of course, it wasn’t really Senna. It was April’s perception of her. All the ugliness that entailed, this cruel, monstrous girl who had been her half-sister. “I _own_ you.” Her voice sounded desperate. She didn’t look much like Senna at all. “I gave you this world and I took your first kiss. You share my blood.”

But April only stepped back. “You don’t have power over me,” she said to her. “Not anymore.”

The dream flickered, and with it, Senna’s face. " _You",_ she sobbed out. "What  _are_ you?" And then she was fading away. 

It would’ve made more sense if April had to kill her. Banished the ghost of her past, the witch who was her half-sister.

But April was getting tired of doing the killing. She was a pacifist.

* * *

April woke up to torchlight flickering on the walls, and knew with a certainty that these particular nightmares were over.

She cried. She’d had Senna for the last decade of her life, and not seeing her even in her dreams anymore hurt with a surprising intensity. And she was furious at herself for letting herself be hurt, and torn between the memory of Senna’s lips and the memory of her burning men alive, and most of all kind of claustrophobic from being underground for so long. She’d have to take a walk outside the Great Diggings sometime soon, before she drove herself crazy.

“April,” Etain had said later, over lunch. “You seem much cheerier lately. As if a weight has been lifted from your shoulders!” It sounded like a question.

 April smiled. It didn't feel genuine, not quite yet. She still tasted cherry. But, “I guess it has,” she said, and glanced down at her hands. Clean. Well, as clean as they were ever likely to get in Everworld, anyway.

 


End file.
